Pucked (Pucked 1)

“Who’s Dick?”

“My agent.” Alex silences the call and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“You’re not going to answer?”

“Not tonight. I don’t need him jumping down my throat about the fight or the locker room.”

His teammates pile onto the bus, thwarting my ability to ask more questions. Buck’s agent runs a lot of interference for the stupid things Buck does on a regular basis. I assume Alex’s agent must do the same.

Alex’s teammates razz him about the fight on the ice the entire way to the bar. No one so much as mentions the locker room. Regardless, Alex becomes increasingly annoyed as they give him hell for being so hotheaded. While I’m a fan of an irritated Alex, I don’t want him to be in a pissy mood for the rest of the evening. Even if it might benefit me later.

I’ve never experienced the team’s arrival from this perspective. It’s overwhelming. The media slags and excited fans are all over the place, flashes from cell phone cameras go off like strobe lights. They yell at Alex, asking about the fight and me, wanting to know if the locker room rumors are true. I cower into his side, disturbed by how quickly news travels. As the lone female among the throng of giant males, I stick out like a pair of boobs in a sea of dicks, just as I feared.

I grip Alex’s arm tightly. “Please tell me there aren't any pictures.”

He shakes his head. “It’s all speculation.”

His response doesn’t do much to alleviate my concern.

Through the spots in my eyes from the flashes, I search valiantly for my parents and Charlene in the crowd. All the faces are indistinct blurs.

Alex takes my hand and leans down so his mouth is close to my ear. “My family is here. I want to introduce you.”

Oh God. I have to meet the parents. I’m thankful I had time to manage my hair, otherwise I’d still be sporting the freshly fucked look. What if I say something dumb? This is me after all; I have a propensity for spewing idiocy. What if Alex’s mother hates me? What if rumors of the locker room lovin’ have already reached her?

My palm is sweaty as Alex slides his fingers between mine and gives it a squeeze. I squeeze back, unable to let up on my grip.

He pulls me close and kisses my temple. “They’re going to love you.”

We’ll see about that. Immediately after we enter the VIP section, a woman my mother’s age throws her arms around him.

Once she lets him go, I take in the rest of her. Holy shit. If there happened to be a Cougar Component for a beauty pageant, she’d be a prime candidate. Her stunning face and delicate features are overshadowed by her hair. It’s huge.

The complexity of the teased style must be held in place by seven cans of hairspray. If I lit a match within a ten-foot radius of her head, she would burst into flames. I just can’t get over it. As I stare in horrified awe, I snap my mouth shut and attempt a natural smile.

Alex is beaming. It would be cute if I wasn’t so damn stunned by the pageant queen before me.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend, Violet. Violet, this is my mother, Daisy.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say through my plastered-on smile.

How adorable. We’re both named after flowers. Her name is completely at odds with her crazy Aqua Net hair. Daisy is a name I attribute to flower children who wear tie-dye and smoke weed.

Beyond the hair and the discordant name, Alex introduced me as his girlfriend again. To his mother. At least he doesn’t have to tell her I’m not a prostitute, but this is crazy. I didn’t even get the chance to say I wanted to be his girlfriend—he just applied the label. Don’t people ask those sorts of questions nowadays? Or is it assumed once we reach the stage of weekend getaways? Does this qualify as a weekend getaway? I have too many questions.

“I had no idea Alex had a girlfriend.” She looks at Alex. “Why would you want to keep this one a secret?”

Oooh. I’m not liking Mrs. Waters so far.

“I haven’t been keeping Violet a secret.” He’s smiling, but there’s an edge to his tone and a warning in his eyes as he stares his mother down.

I can see the moment she decides I’m not good enough for her son. She extends her hand and gives me a limp-noodle handshake, like I have a disease. This is going so well.

Alex is either oblivious to the estrogen landmine we’ve dropped into, or he’s looking for a way to save me, because he introduces me to his father. Holy vowel sounds. Alex may have his mother’s eyes and hair color, but he has his dad’s looks. Mr. Waters’ is pulling a hard-core silver fox. His eyes are a stunning shade of blue. This family has been blessed with amazing eye genes. And everything else. His choice of clothing is something else. He’s sporting a pair of worn jeans and a white button-down. The top three buttons are undone, exposing a band T-shirt. He’s also wearing Birkenstocks—with socks.